


took a chance (and bet right on you)

by Finally_Home



Series: based on songs [8]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Coming of Age, Happy Ending, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Nostalgia, Song: betty (Taylor Swift), Summer Love, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Teenagers, i have no clue what to tag this, no beta we die like men, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28523442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finally_Home/pseuds/Finally_Home
Summary: They’re both seventeen and they’re in love, the most they’ll ever be in their entire lives, this summer when they’re seventeen.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun
Series: based on songs [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755427
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	took a chance (and bet right on you)

**Author's Note:**

> [taylor swift - betty](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6TAPqXkZW_I)

_ In the garden, would you trust me if I told you it was just a summer thing? _

Ten falls in love for the first time when he’s seventeen. On the other side of the invisible red string is someone he never would have imagined falling in love with. Nay, he wouldn’t have even imagined being friends with him. He’s everything Ten’s not, the epitome of class president, mom-friend, wise soul, someone who doesn’t quite belong to this day and age.

What comes to mind when Ten thinks of him? Many things. Snippets of life. Thick beige sweaters and round glasses. Unruly hair falling over immortal-dark eyes. Sitting in the bleachers with a book or binder. First chair violin during orchestra concerts. Impeccable smile during class presentations. Quiet and kind and bothering no one, the freshmen’s favorite, alone in the library during lunch, teacher’s pet, academia vibes, nerd, too nice to be a loser but that’s what he is because who else would he be? 

Qian Kun. That’s who he’d be. That’s who he is.

They don’t even know each other. The most interaction that Ten remembers is walking to school together in mutual silence, one after the other. Usually, it would be Ten in front, headphones in, head bobbing to whatever he felt like listening to that day. Behind him, Kun would only keep his distance, sometimes with his head down, other times looking around the world like it was brand new. Sometimes he’d listen to music too, other times he’d look over papers, face scrunched together in concentration and stress. But most times he just… walked.

When did Ten start to notice him? And when had he started turning down his music to listen to Kun’s voice, rushed but soft, reciting physics equations or math theorems or Shakespeare monologues? Who even memorized those anyway, in the age of equation sheets and open-note tests?

Well, Kun, obviously.

Before Kun, Ten had always thought that love was dumb. It made one blind, stupid, reckless, and a loser. Johnny always abandoned him for dates with pretty girls, Mark only talked to him about his relationship problems, and even Haechan, his archenemy-in-training, turned soft around his boyfriend. Ten swore he would never become that kind of person, love-dumb for some person who probably wasn’t even that pretty.

But that was before he met Kun. Kun is… Kun. He’s not as pretty as some of the girls Johnny introduces him to, but he is, in his own way, beautiful. Ten can’t put his finger on it; there’s just something about him, something about the way he holds himself, the softness of his voice when he speaks, the way he laughs when one of the freshmen makes a joke, the look in his eyes that says I’ve seen everything and more.

There’s something about him, something that attracts everything and everyone, even if they don’t really know him, Ten included. That’s why, he supposes, he waits one morning, dew glistening on the grass below his feet as the sunrise colors everything gold, waits for Kun to come out of his house with his backpack and jacket because he hates the cold.

How does he even know Kun hates the cold?

Hi, Kun says with a smile. Impeccable, as always. Perfect, too perfect, and something in Ten breaks. He wants to ruin him, wants to see that Kun crack, laugh like he does with the freshmen. How are you this morning?

The real Kun. Ten wants to see the real Kun, the one beneath the mask he puts on, the one without infinite wisdom, the one past the books and homework. He wants the real Kun.

Hi, he says. I’m Ten.

_ I'm only 17, I don't know anything, but I know I miss you _

  
  
  


_ So, I showed up at your party, will you have me, will you love me? _

Ten is popular. Kun knows; he’s seen him with Johnny and Jaehyun and Mark. Ten is popular, and there was no way he’d pay attention to someone simple like him. What’s he to Ten? A loser who hangs out with freshmen? A nerd who knows all the answers to the questions the teacher asks in class? A lonely person, maybe.

He never thought he’d want to be friends with him, or that he’d actually be interested in the things he talks about, or that they share the same music taste down to the very song. To this day, Kun doesn’t know anyone else so obsessed with TVXQ’s One More Thing than himself and Ten.

Ten is… a mystery. Sometimes he’s reckless, seeking thrill in committing petty crimes—are they even crimes?—dragging him along to spray paint his driveway some new design he came up with when he wasn’t paying attention in class. Other times he’s vulnerable, flipping through his sketchbook and explaining the stories behind the drawings, jagged and colorful or soft and grayscale.

Most times, he’s just Ten. He likes to laugh, pulling up dumb jokes or memes on his phone to show him. He always brings a Thermos of iced americano to school, always wears t-shirts even if he can’t stand the cold. He’s loud and touchy and vulnerable and looking for something more.

He’s only seventeen. He’s only Ten.

But he’s enough for Kun. It’s a slightly-chilly April morning when they become friends, but it’s a perfectly-warm summer evening when they fall in love. When Kun falls in love. Or maybe he’d been in love before that, since the first time he laid eyes on him, but it’s with the sunset washing amber over the skatepark, hair windswept and cheeks flushed from more than heat, that they come together.

Hands twined, hearts synced. In love.

_ Will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends? _

  
  
  


_ If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it? _

Their first kiss is nothing special, not really, not in the grand scheme of things, but the memory remains vivid in his mind. Kun, barefoot on the beach, sea breeze whipping through his hair, salt on their lips and sand on their skin. He remembers standing in the shallows, splashing each other and wading deeper, deeper, lunging towards him and lips crashing onto his, soft and chapped and wet with the sea. Salty, sweet, allspice and cinnamon even though it was summer.

And Kun kissing him back.

They fall into the water, balance upset with how Ten clutches onto his shirt, oversized but clinging to his body, sand between their legs and in their mouths, fingers, hair. Sand everywhere but they don’t mind. It’s June twenty-eighth and they’re on a road trip. They’re both seventeen and they’re in love, the most they’ll ever be in their entire lives, this summer when they’re seventeen.

No words, though none are needed, only the warmth of his fingers and the spark of his touch. Ten hated electronics but he thinks they’re a circuit, incomplete without each other, electricity flowing at the smallest touch. He feels like an electron sometimes, lost without a nucleus to pull him in, chaotic without structure, nothing to give his life meaning until something comes to set things in order.

They’re one of a kind, certainly, one of many seventeen-year-olds taking road trips to the beach, but something sets them apart, and he knows what it is. He knows what it is. It’s in Kun’s sun-bleached curls and the way he jumps into the glass-green ocean with a splash, in the angel-haloed silhouette against the sun and the shadows growing long underneath porch lights, in the cold yellow fireflies shining through Kun’s fingers and the way he looks at Ten like he wants to keep him in his heart.

It’s in the bad pop music they blast with the car windows open, screaming the words all wrong but not caring. It’s in the way their hands find each other, palms slick with sweat because it’s hot but neither wants to let go. It’s in the stars that they see over the ocean, Orion’s Belt and Betelgeuse and meteors slicing across the sky and the wishes they both wish. It’s in the way Kun giggles and how he pushes his glasses up and when he thinks Ten’s not looking.

It’s special, the summer they’re seventeen. It’s special because of them. Because of Kun.

_ Will it patch your broken wings? _

  
  
  


_ Standing in your cardigan, kissing in my car again _

Ten is something of a miracle. He never stops, not even when he’s about to keel over from exhaustion, and Kun knows it’s a defense mechanism, but it doesn’t make him feel any better about it. It’s not like Ten will ever elect to talk about it, either; he’s not that kind of person, doesn’t like to feel vulnerable even if it’s showing through on the outside.

He tries so hard to keep up a mask, and Kun can’t bear to tear it down for him.

He only remembers seeing him cry once. The autumn of their senior year, underneath a wide blue sky with golden afternoon sunlight and a slight chill in the sweet-smelling air, holding onto him and Kun remembers the tears falling onto his shoulder. The bike racks bare and shiny, leaves falling softly from the tree beside the brick wall, and Ten.

Ten usually smelled like magic, like linen and curry and wind, but that day, he smelled like vanilla. Too sweet, almost cloying, and he doesn’t remember why—new detergent? new air freshener?—but the thing he remembers most is burying his nose in Ten’s hair, breathing him in, and holding him close.

You can cry, he murmurs, not knowing if it will help, hoping it won’t make things worse. I’m here, I’m with you, I’m here. It’s okay, I’m here, I’m here. 

I’ll never stop being here, he wants to say, I’ll be here forever, as long as it takes, but in a flash, Ten’s wiping his eyes and slipping back into his mask and he says I’m okay, Kun, let’s go.

Once this moment is over, it’s over for good, Kun knows, so he pulls Ten back in, cups his face with his hands, and kisses the tear-tracks away. I’m here, he tells him between breaths, I’m here.

Don’t keep everything to yourself, he doesn’t say. Trust me with your insecurities, tell me when you’re sad. I’ll love you for you if you can’t. Unconditional, even if you don’t love me anymore. Tell me, call me, and I’ll be there. I’ll always be here for you.

But Ten only kisses him, pulls away, says I’m okay, Kun, I’m okay, but are you?

Ten had always told him that he seemed like he was looking through his soul, but Kun thinks it should be Ten instead, eyes darker than the night sky during winter, stars reflecting deep within. He knows Kun so well, too well, and he feels pinned underneath his knowing gaze.

No, he admits, but neither are you.

Ten smiles, hooking a finger under his chin. That’s why we’re perfect, baby.

_ Stopped at a streetlight, you know I miss you _

**Author's Note:**

> yes i know the content has nothing to do with the lyrics but i binged folklore + evermore and i really did break out of fixing my sleep schedule to write this. i think i'm pretty happy with it, though. it's a style i haven't written in a while and it came natural and yeah it might be bad but hey.
> 
> (them run-on sentences though)


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